


Broken Mirrors

by justanothermaniac



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Animal Abuse, Blood and Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Physical Abuse, Sibling Incest, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 09:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20636648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanothermaniac/pseuds/justanothermaniac
Summary: The parallels should seem odd. To anyone else, they would. But Jerome loves them.





	Broken Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> Did you guys think I'd ever post anything other than twincest on here?  
No?  
Me neither.
> 
> But seriously, before I got to meet Jeremiah (dark, dark times) and we got to witness our favorite ginger snap interact with our favorite angry bird in Arkham, I was absolutely thrilled. Their dynamic was amazing and YES, I fucking ship it. I mean, I'm Nygmobblepot trash too, I'll admit it but DAMN. I mean...the mime battle? The spork? "Little bird" COME ON HOW COULD I NOT.
> 
> I have tons of Jeromewald fics sitting on my desktop. I'm not sure how much I'll upload or if I even will at all but as you can tell, this one is fairly new since it focuses on Miah a lot too. The older ones only mention him somewhat and, well, I'm Miah trash, so. We'll see.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this one. Please let me know what you think in the comments. I know it's quite short but I kinda like it that way. Or maybe I'm just a lazy bitch (I am a lazy bitch)
> 
> Enjoy, my lovelies!
> 
> ~ jam 💙

_Chainsaw,_ Jerome thinks, his heartbeat speeding up at the thought, his stomach feeling warm. _Gonna use a chainsaw. _

He imagines Jeremiah beneath him, his beautiful blue eyes blown wide behind his glasses. His face is drained of any color, so very afraid and he'd beg him, _oh,_ how he would _beg_ Jerome to stop, to get off of him, his arms trapped between his sides and Jerome's legs. No way to move. No way to escape.

Jeremiah always begged so _prettily_ when they were children. He'd whimper and call for Jerome to hold him, even though Jerome was the one who hurt him in the first place. He'd cling to Jerome and hide his face in Jerome's neck, but not for comfort, not _only_ for comfort.

Jerome always figured that Jeremiah knew exactly what he was doing. He knew exactly what Jerome wanted him to do, to say.

_"I need you"_

_"Please hold me"_

_"Big brother"_

It was textbook, and his needy, trembling touches were staged. Jeremiah wasn't nearly as clever as he liked to think he was, but Jerome would still answer every call. And Jeremiah would curl his fingers in Jerome's shirt above his chest. "I promise I'll be good!", he'd cry in Jerome's neck, "I promise, please, Jerome, _please,_ big brother, I love you so much, don't abandon me..!" 

And Jerome would shush him as he rocked him like a baby in his arms and assure him that _no, I'd never abandon you, baby bro, I LOVE you_. He'd be gentler with Jeremiah for the following days, compliment him on his drawings, surprise him with little gifts. His hugs would be warm and inviting, not crushing and possessive and he could feel Jeremiah melt against him every time. Jeremiah would continue doing everything he could to keep Jerome that way, to keep Jerome _satisfied._

Was he being manipulated by Jeremiah?

Absolutely.

Did he care?

Not in the slightest. Because Jerome _also_ knew what he was doing. And unlike Jeremiah, who'd always try and fail to see through Jerome, see what was brewing inside the rotten cauldron of crooked madness that was his brain, Jerome could read Jeremiah like a book. He always knew what his baby brother was thinking, planning.

_Well,_ Jerome thinks, smiling to himself bitterly, _not always. _

Maybe a chainsaw wouldn't be the right choice after all. What if he went with a hatchet instead? It would be sentimental in a way. _Golden boy would die like Mommy._

Jerome snickers. He really likes that thought. And Jeremiah was always the poetic type, or at least he acted the part, with his knitted sweater vests and the worn, leather bound books he had Jerome steal for him.

It's still endearingly disgusting to Jerome. Jeremiah tried to hide it and probably never knew that Jerome could see right through the facade, but even though they came from the same toxic environment, Jeremiah always hung on to the idea that he was somehow _above_ it all, above _Jerome,_ his cruel, crazy brother. But Jeremiah held the same darkness within his soul, the same twisted thoughts. He was just too much of a coward to let go.

"Jerome?"

The voice is soft and slightly shaky but familiar enough to snap Jerome back into reality. He hears the muffled cries of the other inmates, inhales the scent of rusty metal, cheap plastic and the unmistakable stench of disinfectant.

He drops his gaze to Oswald, who's leaning against him with a now closed book in his lap, looking up at Jerome with wide, worried eyes. His bottom lip is trembling, like always when he's looking at Jerome. It makes his skin tingle and he fights the urge to grin. "Are you...alright?"

He's careful as he asks this, afraid of what might happen if Jerome doesn't approve of him being nosy. Jerome is aware and he feels giddy because this sentiment towards him from another human being is so beautifully familiar. 

He realizes once more that Oswald's petite form isn't much broader than his arm, which he has draped around the former mayor's shoulders. His uniform is too large for him too, making him look like he's about to be devoured by the rough fabric. Oswald is small and delicate.

_Miah was small and delicate too._

Even though they're identical twins, Jerome was always broader than Jeremiah due to working around the circus from early childhood on, whereas Jeremiah always hid away in the trailer, nose stuck in a book or his sketchbook, dreaming himself into the countless little mazes he loved to create. Jerome preferred it that way most of the time, because Jeremiah was _his_ and no one else was allowed to lay eyes on him, let alone touch him.

However, he'd sometimes persuade <strike>_(force)_</strike> Jeremiah to go with him, make him watch as he decapitated a squirrel or ripped out a cat's entrails. Jeremiah loved cats, so those occasions would always leave him crying and shaking, begging Jerome to stop as he curled in on himself on the grass, a bundle of marvelous misery. 

But anyway, despite being practically identical, Jeremiah's cowardice left him a skinny, easily breakable thing.

Oswald is equally as breakable. Even more so, being so ridiculously short. Jerome could probably crush both of them with a single squeeze.

That is a beautiful idea. Squeeze Jeremiah until he breaks. _Hold baby bro as close as you can. That's what he always needed, right? Make it the last thing he ever feels._

He realizes he never answered Oswald. "Course, baby birdie", he coos, flashing him a brilliant smile, reveling in the way it makes him try to suppress a flinch. "Don't ya worry 'bout lil ol' me."

Oswald bites his lip, his body shaken by a slight tremor, as if the weight of Jerome's arm on his shoulders is suddenly too heavy for him. As unlikely as it is, Jerome really enjoys that thought. Just for that, he pulls Oswald a little closer, his tiny gasp sending a thrill through his entire body, right to his groin.

He's made Oswald his from the very first day. He was always a fan, drinking up the news of the former criminal mayor candidate, not buying the act of the concerned citizen for even a second. Oswald's eyes were sharp and knowing, holding a constant threat of violence and he had the slightest twitch in the corner of his mouth, as if he was holding back an otherwise permanent smirk.

Jerome has always wanted to meet this sneaky, violent little nutcase, and to learn that they put him in a cell right next to his? Oh, Jerome was _thrilled. _

He was defiant at first, the pretty little bird, snarling at Jerome and puffing his chest out, trying to make himself look bigger than he is. Jerome was absolutely intrigued. He's always had a thing for the feisty ones, because they gave him the opportunity of breaking them down completely, making them _want_ to submit to him. He remembers the rare occasions Jeremiah would try to bat his hands away, or squirm under him while Jerome slid a blade over his skin, only to surrender with a broken little sob, letting Jerome do as he pleased, cuddling into him afterwards.

Oswald looked absolutely _gorgeous_ the first time Jerome broke him down, surrounded by the crazed, hungry gazes of their fellow inmates. Thin strands of black hair plastered to his forehead, his freckled cheeks flushed, his heart-shaped lips parted as he tried to protest, shoving at Jerome's chest with quick but weak little hands, to no avail. Jerome pressed Oswald's small form against the shower wall, a bruising grip on his hips when he sunk his teeth into pale, delicate skin.

Oh, how he made the little bird _sing_ when he dug his nails into the soft, trembling flesh of his thighs, rocking into his tight heat. It was bliss. Oswald screamed and kicked and scratched but in the end, he submitted, arms wrapping around Jerome's neck as he fucked Oswald into the cold tiles for dozens of inmates to witness as he wept.

Jerome held him in his arms afterwards, praising him, gently massaging his bad leg, his face all the while split into a wide, satisfied grin. Oswald melted right into him, crying from pain and humiliation, mixing with disgusted relief, disgusted because of who he was clinging to, relief because he was being comforted. Oswald was touch-starved, Jerome knew from the very first moment and he'd be _damned_ if he wasn't going to use that to his advantage. 

It worked. Oswald didn't leave his side from that moment on. He'll suck Jerome's dick whenever he wants, he lets Jerome touch him and hurt him in all the best ways, and he turns to wax in Jerome's hands every time he holds him down.

Jerome isn't a fool though. He knows Oswald's devotion doesn't stem simply from the desire to feel wanted. Staying close to him lets Oswald enjoy the small luxury Jerome's position in Arkham provides. Being safe from other inmates, better food, shower privileges, and so on. Jerome knows it's beneficial for the both of them and that makes it so much better. He's certain Oswald doesn't think that Jerome knows about his intentions.

_Miah didn't think I that knew about his intentions. _

The parallels should seem odd and to anyone else, they would. But Jerome _loves _them. He loves how he'll sometimes look at Oswald and see Jeremiah, he loves how the little bird will cling to him at times because Jerome _made him want to,_ just like he's made Jeremiah.

Delicate fingers come up, trembling as they graze over Jerome's scarred cheek. Oswald does that when he thinks Jerome isn't paying attention to his words. It's a feather-light touch, barely even there, like the flap of a butterfly's wing. "Are you sure? I'm...not meaning to bribe but -!"

Jerome's hand shoots forward and grabs Oswald by the jaw. He sucks in a breath, his eyes widening in fear and Jerome grins down at him, his chest feeling warm. He knows that look, he knows it _very_ well. He leans in close, his nose almost touching Oswald's. "If ya don't wanna bribe, Ozzie baby..._don't bribe."_

Oswald gulps and nods as good as he can with Jerome still holding his jaw. "Yes, of course, I'm...I'm sorry..I just...I was worried, I'm sorry, Jerome..!"

_"I'm sorry, Jerome...!"_

Jerome giggles, leaning in to whisper in Oswald's ear. "You should be worried for _yourself,_ bird boy, not me." He flicks his tongue over Oswald's earlobe, loving the way his words make Oswald wince and shake in fear, in contrast to the way his skin started to heat up at the contact.

It's beautiful that he could crush the little bird in a matter of _seconds._ Jerome doesn't necessarily _want_ to do that, after all, he's having _way_ too much fun with his pretty pet birdie.

But Oswald doesn't need to know that.

_Jeremiah's tiny hand is reaching out for him, the tears in his eyes making them sparkle like stars. "Jerome, please, don't leave me here!", he cries but Jerome just looks down at him in the pit they found. It's about five feet deep. They don't know who dug it and why but it doesn't matter. Jerome saw the opportunity and took it, ripping Jeremiah's glasses from his face and shoving him. He's struggling to keep his face blank when he actually wants to grin. "Jerome? Jerome! Please, I'm scared, big brother, I need you to hold me!" But Jerome ignores the longing feeling inside him and turns around without a word, his face finally splitting into a satisfied grin. Jeremiah seems speechless for a moment before he starts yelling for him, begging for him but Jerome keeps walking, to obtain a rope and pull Jeremiah up._

_But Jeremiah doesn't need to know that._

Jerome dips down, sliding his tongue up Oswald's neck. His breath hitches and he shudders, staying completely still. He's waiting for instructions, for Jerome to push him where he wants him. Jerome wants to _eat_ _him._

He doesn't waste much time with foreplay, but he rarely does. He pushes Oswald on his back and tugs his pants down. Unfortunately, the number of positions they can try is limited due to Oswald's bad leg and while Jerome _thoroughly_ enjoys gripping it and making Oswald howl in pain, it's only fun as long as Oswald is still able to focus on other sensations as well. Blinding pain is counterproductive when you're trying to make someone beg for you.

Jerome pulls one of his gloves off with his teeth and shoves two fingers in Oswald's mouth. He begins sucking them immediately, eyes slipping closed, releasing a broken, needy little sound against the digits. Jerome's half-hard cock twitches in his pants and he pushes in deeper, making Oswald choke a little.

Jerome wonders what Jeremiah would sound like if he were the one sucking on his fingers right now. He tries to imagine what he would look like, if he would still be wearing those ridiculous sweater vests, if he would still part his hair to the side neatly. Jerome would make sure its _ruined,_ ruffled and sweaty, sticking to his forehead as his lips part to release a breathless sound of wounded pleasure. He tries to imagine Jeremiah's soft voice as he says Jerome's name. 

His heart aches at the thought and he pulls back, throwing Oswald's bad leg over his shoulder as he shoves the slicked up fingers inside him. Oswald's breath hitches and he grabs the rough sheets beneath him, eyes squeezed shut. "Sing for me, birdie boo", Jerome murmurs, curling his fingers and prompting Oswald to cry out, his thighs shaking.

"Jero-ome..!", he whimpers, one hand untangling from the sheets to blindly reach up and hold onto Jerome's shirt. He tugs at it without realizing and Jerome leans down, biting into Oswald's neck, breaking the skin. Oswald whines, his fingers sliding through Jerome's hair, pulling him impossibly closer.

Oswald likes feeling Jerome close, closer than sex requires. He's desperate for physical contact, and he hates himself for it, which is why he'll flinch away immediately after leaning into it when Jerome runs a hand through his hair or noses at the side of his face when they're sitting out in the cafeteria.

But here, in Jerome's cell, Oswald lets himself feel what he wants to, _needs_ to feel. The fear is omnipresent but outweighed by desire. Jerome knows all of this and he cherishes it, as much as it's possible for him.

He presses his lips to Oswald's, parts them and lets his tongue glide in Oswald's mouth. Oswald moans, high-pitched and open, letting Jerome take, take, take, as long as it's _him_ he takes from. Jerome does so with delight. 

But in the end, he'll always be thinking about what he lost fifteen years ago. And now, as Oswald is shaking and whining beneath him, pushing back against Jerome's thrusts with raw, starved want, Jerome decides that it's not enough. 

The parallels are not enough.


End file.
